Not James
by that lionhearted vagabond
Summary: -He knows, and even though it breaks his heart, he knows, the boy in front of him isn't James.- Two-shot-He did not once see his life flash before his eyes.-
1. Not James

**A/N I realize I wrote ****You Suck**** like an hour ago, but I'm on a role tonight. This is angst, again (sorry), but I think (hope) you'll like it.**

_**Not James**_

He knows that the raven haired teen in front of him isn't James. He knows it all too well, and yet people (Molly) still feel the need to remind him constantly. Harry isn't James, and he knows that, he knows his best friend is long dead, that he hasn't heard him laugh, except out of his memories, in over fifteen years. He knows, and even though it breaks his heart, he knows, the boy in front of him isn't James.

He isn't fifteen anymore, not by a long shot, he wishes he was fifteen, he had his best friend when he was fifteen. Even though he's only thirty-five (Merlin he was getting old) he felt so much older, grief did that to you. Thirteen years in prison didn't help he supposed. Standing here though, sometimes he forgets that he's an old (even if he's not old), man, all alone (even if he isn't), with so much sadness that he feels like his soul is leaving (even if he's not around dementors anymore), and a pathetically tragic life story (he should be grateful; he's alive, isn't he? He doesn't feel grateful though, sometimes he thinks it might have been better if he'd died with his best friend). Then he looks up, and see's green eyes instead of hazel, and he remembers, Harry isn't James, and he's all alone again.

Harry is a great kid, better than most, better then James ever was, better then he was. Sometimes, even though he loves the boy in front of him like his own, he wishes he wasn't there, because it's painful. So so painful to see Harry, who looks so much like his father that it hurts, because he reminds him, Harry isn't James, James is gone, and he isn't coming back. Harry is great, and he should be thankful that he knows him, that he knows his godson, most of the time he is, but sometimes it's hard (harder than it should be), because Harry is living reminder that his best friend is dead, and Harry isn't James.

Harry is so unbelievably different than his father it's almost funny, ironic considering they look so similar, or they would if James were alive (but he isn't). James was loud, and cocky, and to be honest, nothing but a bully, he broke rules to prove he could. Harry is quiet (to quiet), and humble (He should be proud of himself, but he never is), he spent the ten years being bullied, and he broke rules to save lives, always with some noble reason. James sacrificed himself for his family; Harry would sacrifice himself for anyone. He can't really believe he ever thinks they're the same person, but sometimes he does. Only for brief moments, like when he laughs, Harry has James' laugh (James laughed so much more than his son), and it hurts. He deals with the pain though, because Harry deserves that much, to have someone who loves him, besides, he owes James, who made his life worth living, who gave him something to fight for (besides against his parents), so he honors James' memory, and smiles when he wants to cry. He won't cry, he hasn't cried since the day James died, not even when he relived the day in his cell, his father tortured him as a child, he was one of the most active members of the Order, and his worst memory was seeing his best friend's house in pieces, crumbling into a mess of nothingness. None of that could compare to seeing James' body, cold and still in the front hallway though, that broke him.

Harry isn't James, sometimes that's hard to remember, when really it shouldn't be, it should be easy to see the difference between his best friend (his brother really) and his godson, but then again, he's always been kind of backwards.

Harry isn't James, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't true, it is, Harry isn't James. He isn't his best friend. He knows that. Right now though, he feels himself forgetting. He makes a remark about his family, he forgets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He knows it was sarcastic though, with a little bit of rebellion mixed in, because almost everything he says is. He knows Harry isn't James, because James would have laughed. Harry didn't.

He looks into those green eyes (the ones his best friend had been madly in love with) and remembers that Harry isn't James. He's much too serious; James was never serious, especially not at fifteen. At fifteen, James had never had a serious moment. Harry was almost always serious, his gaze intent, and more mature then James' had ever been, even at twenty.

Harry wasn't James.

He never had been, and never would be.

James was gone, beyond the land of the living. Long gone, and staying gone.

He wasn't coming back.

Harry wasn't James.

He knew that.

It still hurt though.

Because Harry wasn't James.


	2. Free

**A/N So this is the very, extremely, really short second and last chapter of this twoshot. So I apologize for the shortness. Also Bellatrix might seem a little OOC, but that's because I was reading Twenty things you didn't know about, by jeffie and bright the day, by cupid-painted-blind (both are completely amazing in that wow, I never thought of it that way, kind of way, so check 'em out) and I thought, well maybe Bellatrix isn't completely psycho. I'd like to thank Mrs. Tibbles for reviewing, you rock! Come on guys, you can do better than that. Anyway, thanks so much, now on with the story.**

_**Free**_

He saw it, written as clear as day on her face, he knew very well what was coming, the sudden force knocking up against his chest, pushing him backwards, that was only confirming what he already knew to be true. He was going to die. There were no ifs, or maybes, or whats, he was going to die. There might have been a chance, a small one, he should have taken it, he should have fought to stay with, his godson, with Harry, who'd already lost so much, and Remus, who'd already lost two of his best friends, but the veil beckoned, and he missed his chance.

So he turned his attention away from his godson, who was screaming his name, and Remus, who was restraining the struggling teen, good, knowing Harry he'd try to follow him, and James wouldn't like that. The intricate dance that the side of light, and the side of dark had formed did not stop or slow as his body moved closer and closer to the veil, he, in his hyperactive state before death, was just processing his numerous final thoughts quickly, time went on. He did not once see his life flash before his eyes.

The veil had its hold on him now, he couldn't fight it, and even if he could, he wasn't sure he would, he thought he could hear James' laugh on the other side of the ridiculously haunted looking stone archway, not the actual other side, where Tonks was dueling Dolvo, but the other, nonexistent side, the place that wasn't quite in this reality. The wispy fabric seemed to be reaching towards him; he was doomed at this point.

His eyes settled on Bellatrix, his cousin, his murderer. When they were young children they'd been close, they were, in a way, very similar, except he was rebellious, joining Gryffindor, then the Order, whereas she had stuck with the family, and their beliefs, joining Slytherin, and then the Death Eaters, it was their differences that drove them apart, until they got to this point, now, where they couldn't be in the same room as each other without trying (succeeding) to kill each other.

He'd never been able to bring himself to hate her though, not even now, as he watched her, her wand still pointed at his chest as she screamed in triumph, partially to hide the single tear that rolled down her cheek, it did the job well, not one person noticed, not even Sirius as he stared at her.

"Bye Bells," he whispered with the last of his breath, the slow quiet sound somehow managed to reach her ears, against all odds, no one else seemed to hear it though. He was letting her know, that in a way, he understood, she had to do this, she had to do what she believed in, regardless of her family's, or anyone else's opinion, like him and the Order. He forgave her.

He saw something flicker behind her eyelids, was it . . . regret? He wasn't sure, but he could of sworn he saw her mouth,

"Bye Siri," back at him, he smiled. It was time to go, the veil still beckoned. It was time to join James, to find out what it was he was laughing about. Still smiling he slipped through the veil, finally, after all these long years, he was free.


End file.
